


The Hollywood Job

by nettleurgy, urbanMystic



Series: Overwatch PolyamVerse [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Complicated Relationships, Drug Abuse, F/M, Gambling Addiction Mention, Mention of Disease, Panic Attacks, Sleepy Cuddles, a random portuguese word, tobacco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 04:58:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14253522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nettleurgy/pseuds/nettleurgy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/urbanMystic/pseuds/urbanMystic
Summary: It was supposed to be a simple job to take Jesse's mind back to where it needed to be, to get some cash. She was never supposed to be there.





	The Hollywood Job

Jesse arrived in Hollywood a few days beforehand. August heat barreled into him with every step, oppressive and impermeable. After long enough, the heat seeped into him, and he forgot what it was like to not be sweating or squinting from under his wide-brimmed hat. At least his chest piece had cooling. It was long overdue for new coolant, but it kept him from heat stroke. That was enough. It had to be.

What drew the bounty hunter to the city was work. One of his contacts had a job for him, some easy babysitting for a trust fund boy. Even as suspicious as he had become, this was too good to pass up. He had enough money for a motel in the city, a rough neighborhood. Everywhere else, that seemed to mean tight quarters, but LA felt open just about everywhere. Cities always felt like cages, but at least Los Angeles had a good padding on the metaphorical cot. 

The first day was spent eating and sleeping. Orange sunsets painted the walls a succulent color, but McCree was dead to it, only aware of the footsteps past his door as his mind drifted in and out of consciousness. When he ate, it was like a python gorging on one dollar “egg” sandwiches only to fall back into a mild stupor.

On day 2 Jesse went to meet his contact. Louis was a greasy man in a short-sleeve linen shirt, like a wannabe Cuban. He sat in the corner of a sad strip club nursing beer and plying his trade, meeting with people and arranging things. He was one of the few people who understood that the old fashioned way was still useful sometimes. Louis was a good arranger, but he wasn’t good at much else.

Walking in, McCree heard his boots on the floor in a way you couldn’t during busy hours. It only made the echo off the walls louder, too close. 

“Jesse!” Louis greeted as the cowboy sat down, “You’re still wearing that getup?” 

The merc grimaced at the unwanted back pat. “Beer please. Yeah, I’m still wearing this getup.”

“Well, get another one. Your job is at a fancy shindig and I need you to blend in,” the order came gravelly and impatient, from unkempt fingers wrapping around a bottle of light beer.

“Alright. What’s the job?” He sipped his own. Tasted like backwash, even fresh.

A photo slid across the bar. Two men, fake tans, one older by a mile, in polos and boat shoes. “The younger one is Brent Osmond Jr. Older one is his dad, same name. Junior is bored as fuck and has decided a life of underground arms dealing is the cure. Senior is an actual hotshot, deals in stolen art and a few unmentionables, and wants his son to get all this uppity crap out of the way before he starts getting groomed to take over the real family business.”

“Where do I come in?”

“Junior is going to his first party, trying to fence off some product, and daddy is looking for a temporary bodyguard for the night. You’d meet them tomorrow morning. Party starts at 6 pm officially, goes until dawn.”

“How much?” 

“Enough to cover your expenses for the rest of the year, unless you do something stupid.”

“You know I quit gamblin’”

“I ain’t ever seen anyone quit, but you’re welcome to lie to yourself for as long as you want.”

Jesse lit a cigarillo and took a long drag. “I need addresses. I’ll case the place tonight and try to be on time tomorrow.”

“It’s on the back of that photo, both of ‘em. Now, how’s the rest of everything?”

“You first.”

“Wife has started grumbling about leaving the city,” he chuckled, “Thinks the kid needs fresh air.”

“How is it?” came the sharp retort, “Being around someone long enough to get ungrateful?”

“Jesus, don’t be a bitch. C’mon, let’s get you a dance.” He motioned over one of the few women working around at that hour, a tall thin blonde. She had her game face on, and Jesse didn’t want to keep her from the few lap dances she would get on a Thursday morning.

“Oh, a cowboy,” she purred, her body poised like a knife in a silver dress, “Don’t see many of those.”

Jesse turned around and gave his usual smile. “Hey sugar.”

“Candice, would you take this idiot in the back and get his mind off things, huh?” Louis turned in his chair like a badly-tanned orangutan to face her.

“Aww, that’s real sweet of ya, but I don’t have any money until Saturday,” McCree took off his hat and covered his chest with it.

The arranger wasn’t having it. “On me. Consider it a welcome home present.” He nabbed Jesse’s cigarillo and put it out. 

“Yeah, I’m sure this’ll get added to your finder’s fee,” he contested, still smiling.

Louis winked, “Always is.”

Candice, still trying to pay rent, put on her best smile and teased her potential client, “It’s just a dance, cowboy. Nothing serious.” She placed a soft hand on his wrist.

Jesse stood, hat in his hand. “Alright, if you’re payin’.”

A few minutes later he was in a dimly lit room lined with couches, a pole on a small center platform. Even in 2087, some things never changed. Candice encouraged Jesse to have a seat, words already overshadowed by the crappy EDM in the background.

“Enjoy the show,” the dancer smiled. She writhed slowly in front of Jesse: good rhythm, athletic and poised, body toned. It was all routine, movements she had gone through a dozen times and that Jesse had seen before. The familiarity was nice, but something was off. He leaned back, one hand up on the back of the couch, feet flat.

It all went well enough until Candice moved in for the kill, the go-to “ass carwash against your client’s groin” movement.

Without realizing it, Jesse let out a low groan, “Sombra.”

He went stiff. It hadn’t even been 2 weeks since he’d seen her last. The magenta menace had cajoled him into a vacation in Austin, and into speaking with his sister for the first time in years. Lilac eyes flashed across his memory, hard with anger at his avoidance of a still-living family. The echoes of hours they had spent on that thin mattress were louder than any speaker.

“Aww, you got a sweetheart,” the dancer turned and winked, trying to lure Jesse out of hiding.

Welp. That killed it. Jesse felt himself deflate, his mood souring. Candice could tell, and kind of phoned it in until his time was up. The gun-for-hire tipped her well and headed out, giving Louis some excuse about having to get ready for the job as he payed for his beer and walked out into the street.

_-Shit. Guess I’m a one-woman man now.-_

His feet knew where to go, and his hands lit another smoke without thinking. Jesse didn’t have to tell Sombra how he felt. He could visit her when he felt like it. Yep. That could do it. Nevermind the way she had called him pretty, had filled him with sweet words and lubed silicone. He could act casual, even in the face of the loyalty and good sense she had shown him.

By the time he made it to the side-alley comm shop, Jesse wanted nothing more than to focus on the job. He bought a burner comm, adding the contact info for his payer and his target. Then it was off to get a side holster, coat, and a haircut. In the August heat, a coat would out him as a bodyguard, but Jesse mostly just needed to hide his gun. It was a custom model, and one he didn’t intend to trade in for anything.

Catching a maglev train, the next order of business was to case the place. He could only do a walkaround, but it was enough. All these McMansions were the same anyway, this one a white stucco disaster. Then it was back to his hotel. He checked again for bugs, placing the gun, flashbangs, and a few other valuables in the safe. Armor hung up on a hangar in the meagre closet. Jesse also added a bit of light sensitive film to the safe, careful to make sure he could close the door without exposing it. It would let him know if anyone had gone into his things, and this trick had tipped him off to investigators more than once.

No one expected the old ways anymore. Computers and new tech were how you got caught, unless you were the best of the best.

Then the laundromat. He unabashedly sat in drab boxers as his pants and shirt got clean, using water and a paper towel to get the worst of the dust off his boots. A few people gave him an off glance, but he was in a seedy enough place that most took him for the homeless man he kind of was.

Clean, the soon-to-be bodyguard went back to his room. He ordered enough food to gorge himself, and started working out a potential layout on a napkin, figuring exits and sniping positions of neighboring houses, looking up the nearest police stations and figuring response times.

By the time he was ready to shower and sleep, it was midnight. He let himself take a good long shower, rubbing out a quick climax to clear his head. It was convenient to wash his hands and let his pale ejaculate wash down the drain. It was easy to pretend, in the heat and noise of the shower, that he hadn’t been moaning her name again.

**9:45 pm, Friday**

Everything was going as expected. Junior was a fool, pre-gaming on coke and some new shit called “grown”, bringing along friends like crocs waiting for a free meal, two young boys, all dressing for attention. 

Jesse was ordered around like a lackey, which was fine, ‘cept that it was Senior that was payin’ and Senior that was calling the shots. The bodyguard kept quiet mostly, eyes sharp, gun at his side under the coat, armor glowing softly. His chaps, serape, hat, flashbangs, and spurs stayed at the hotel. Along with some cheap mousse, he looked like one more hollywood asshole, minus the drugged out stupor.

They arrived in a huge hovercar, something expensive with a driver, and Jesse took the rear to walk into the McMansion.

This was the best of the best, a room full of the underworld’s finest, with a million corners and exits. Jesse had his work cut out for him. Rather than sticking close to his client like a greenhorn, Jesse picked the spot with the best visibility. There was no use trying to intimidate anyone here. He needed a clear shot at all times. Junior tended to avoid windows at least, opting to camp the corner of a couch and manspread on it like the peacock he was.

Fine. All the easier to keep an eye on who wanted him. The gunslinger could already see the web untangle, hear it in whispers and hand gestures. Drug dealer, arms dealer, Sombra, arms dealer, corrupt government official, human trafficker, illegal transport: everyone was here. Those two were organizing a hostage exchange. That poor fool had three guns trained on him. No one seemed to mind Junior. Osmond was a risk, a foolhardy newcomer. These weren’t just pro’s; they were survivors.

_-Wait. What was that list again?-_

_\- Drug dealer, arms dealer, Sombra, arms dealer,-_

_-Sombra. **Sombra.** -_

He scanned the room. 

The short Mexican woman was in a black bodycon dress, black heels that could stab through a man’s chest, a few white-tinged gold bangles to mask the ports on her wrists, her hair the color of straw and in a braid to the side of her head, and a red lip. Her spinal implant was visible, as were a few of her scars. There was champagne in one hand and a cigarette in the other. 

Jesse’s heart started pounding.

She had one gun trained on her, two people looking for deals, and about a dozen wondering if they could fuck her. No goddamn wonder, with a dress like that. Jesse felt his groin tighten, but the anxiety and arousal only made his eyes sharper. His skin buzzed.

_-Okay, McCree. Two targets, split off from each other,and no backup. You done this a dozen times before.-_

Keeping Junior in his peripheral vision, he made his way to the hacker. He didn’t look at her, though he was sure she had spotted him, keeping her at his left side for a moment.

Sombra was leaning against the open bar in the main ballroom, where many of the guests drunkenly swayed and grinded against each other. She also scanned the room, eyes eager to lock onto someone specific.

“You got a gun on you, darlin’,” he opened in a low voice, “40’s, 6’ even, it looks like a pulse handgun. Hired. Probably a knife in the boot, too.”

“... for fuck’s sake,” she growled, “That son of a bitch was too much of a coward to come after me himself.” A garter belt was, as Jesse looked closer, a sturdy leather strap with a steel buckle cinched tight. Sheathed in the strap was a single knife, single sided blade, about 3 inches long. The hacker, thriving in this hostile environment, had come prepared for a skirmish if and when the situation called. 

“I don’t have a gun. Just a knife.” She spoke this through her teeth, lavender eyes darting around to locate the man looking her over with a gun. 

“Don’t look,” Jesse suggested, “they’ll know they’ve been made and it’ll get messier. Up by the bar. I dunno if they’ll try anything in such a crowded place.” He couldn’t turn, had to keep his eye on Junior, who was bragging to some unamused woman, a dealer trying to size him up as a customer.

It felt awkward and strange to give advice to Sombra. She always seemed to have things in hand. Thinking of his own scars, though, Jesse figured no one was so tough as to not need backup.

“I’d like to help, but I have to babysit this little rich boy. Frickin’ cupcake thinks he owns the place. ‘Bout to get his ass handed to him.”

“They might lose their nerve if they no longer have the element of surprise,” she commented. Letting out a dry laugh, she added, “Don’t worry over me, vaquero; this ain’t my first rodeo.” She glanced over to Jesse’s target.

He hoped breaking her concentration wouldn’t turn out to be a mistake.

“Please tell me that one paid well for your time, sugar.” There was something very different about her manner here. Feral, she watched everyone around her how a predator would lust after their prey. She cached away her fear of death into the mud of her own cool confidence. 

“Oh, it’s on Daddy’s card,” he snorted, “So yeah. I’m set for a while.” In the corner of his eyes, he could see she was claws out. He had never doubted it, but seeing it was something else. No wonder he couldn’t get her off his mind. This wasn’t the Sombra from Austin or even Dorado. If Jesse hadn’t been flooded with adrenaline, he might’ve noticed the twinge of saudade.

_- **Focus** , jackass.-_

By the couches, Junior had been turned down by the dealer, laughing. Obviously hurting with wounded pride, he started making a beeline for McCree.

“Here comes my target, and he’s pissed,” Jesse sighed, “Yessir?”

“You’re not being paid to flirt, McCree. Besides, isn’t she a little out of your league?” The boy sniffed and rubbed his nose.

The bodyguard didn’t meet Osmond’s eyes, still scanning the room. From the periphery, her hips tilted, shifting her weight to her left leg. Eyeing Osmond up and down, she flashed him a toothy smile, stinking of self importance and dominance. “Yeah,” he chortled, “She’s miles out of my league.”

“Funny, I don’t recall when I gave you permission to decide who I speak with, little boy.” She spoke with a sneer, taking another sip of her champagne. 

The angry Osmond turned his sights to Sombra, “I wasn’t talking to you.” His eyes flashed like a cub wanting to test its new teeth, taking her in like a prize to be won, “but I could be. Just let me finish dealing with the help.” He nodded his head toward Jesse.

The cowboy hardly reacted, still scanning, arms loose at his sides. “I’m focused. You do what you want.”

Osmond snorted. “I thought so.” He leaned back, giving the hacker another sleazy grin, “Sorry you had to see that.” He casually picked a glass of champagne off the tray of a waiter passing by. “Are you here with anyone?”

Sombra was not having it. Her loose spine hardened, her hips squaring off. Drinking the rest of her champagne in a single fluid gulp, she rapped her talons on the empty glass. 

“Sorry for what? For watching your pathetic attempt to rein in your hired muscle in some toothless attempt to impress me? Weak.”

Man-baby was not fond of this. Not at all. But before he could get out a “Do you know who I am?” Jesse grabbed both of them by the back of the neck and pushed them down.

“DUCK!”

Everyone hit the floor on instinct with a chorus of surprise.

Two shots fired, hitting the wall behind where Sombra had been standing, leaving holes with no bullet. Jesse rolled forward, pulling his gun as he came up and fired a shot into the attacker’s right shoulder. Face twisting in pain, arm useless, they ran. Jesse didn’t give chase, but two other men did, presumably guards for the owner of the house.

As people realized what had happened, they came back up. Most of them dusted off and went right back to work. Some grabbed fresh drinks. Jesse walked back to Osmond and nudged him with his toe.

“You okay, boss?”

Junior stood up, trying and failing to hide his shake, “Y-yes. Good work.”

“What about you?” he looked to Sombra, not sure how to address her just then.

His lover was silent, her hands and knees still plastered to the slick floors. Her ears ringing, the kiss of the bullets’ whistle muting her thoughts. As everyone else around her stood up, feigning relaxation.

She remained. Only for a second.

Jesse was worried, but he knew better than to let down his guard now. No one was calling any cops, but the time directly after this was chaos, and chaos made for good hunting. His body was at its peak, senses threatening to cave under the chemical addition, but he was familiar enough with this distortion to correct for it.

Osmond was shaken. He needed to be calm. “Hey,” Jesse nudged his shoulder, taciturn, “Listen. You’re gonna get tempted to go outside. Don’t. Get a drink and siddown. Act natural. Breathe.”

Junior just nodded. “Alright.” Seems that was just the shock the boy needed. He went and took his seat back, checking on his two buddies, who were also shaking it off like newborn fawns.

The cowboy looked over at Sombra, “You’re ok.” It was probably cold comfort, but now wasn’t the time for much more.

She stood up on sturdy legs making their truly best effort to be unshaken. Grabbing another flute of champagne from a waiter’s tray, she downed half before turning back to Jesse. Yep. Shaken.

“Your clients get their bang for their buck, vaquero.” It was meant to be a joke, but it fell flat. “ You charge ‘em extra for the show?”

Jesse wasn’t looking at her, but he spoke to her in an even low voice, “Listen, I’m in town for the next day or two, waitin’ for payment. If you’re okay with it, I want to make sure you’re alright. I’m at the Motel 6 in South Central. Same room number as the place in Austin. You don’t gotta give me an answer, and you can change yer mind if you want.”

It was way easier to admit to caring about someone when he wasn’t looking at them, when he could make it about her and not him, when he could make it a matter of gentlemanly respect and not actual affection.

The party was returning to normal, sort of. The jumpier folks were getting ready to leave or getting air outside. There was a pause.

“Yeah, yeah,” she responded to him curtly, no longer trying to find his eyes, “I’ll see.” She took another cigarette out of a metal tin in her bag, lighting it. Taking in a long drag, the smoke plumed and twisted out of her nostrils. She spat out, “I suppose after nearly taking two pulse bullets to the skull, I must look like an easy fuck for you.” 

That was a familiar sound, the venom of someone trying to put their armor back on. Jesse had heard it hundreds of times: in Bobby, in Kartik, from himself. Even men like Reyes and his previous Deadlock bosses had used him for a whetstone. It was a rhythm in his very bones, the natural order of his interactions, and it rolled off of him like a friendly greeting.

Finally, Sombra was acting in a way he could predict. So many times she had shown him underbelly when he expected fangs, but here even the hacker had to stay predator, stay claws out and emotions shut off. Good. Jesse knew how to be kind here in the trenches, how to help her brace herself.

“If I wanted an easy fuck there’s a bathhouse 2 blocks from my room,” He commented dryly.

Sombra scoffed, taking another deep drag from her cigarette. The exhale wafter around her like white magnolias.

“Thought you had no money, waitin’ for payday. They won’t give you a good time for nothing.”

Osmond was starting to pick his spirits up again, but Jesse could see he was thinking about something real hard. No one even minded him at this point, happy to ignore the boy if he was just joking with his friends. A few more threats were about, but nothing immanent, and nothing involving Osmond, Jesse, or Sombra.

She spoke low, voice hard and precise. Flicking some of the ashes off, aiming their descent at Jesse’s boots, she scanned the party again. “And you’ve keep coming back to drink from the well of soft, feral, and most critically, free sex. I never took you to be so… shrewd.”

Clearly, this woman had never been to the holo booths and bathhouses, the now 75 year old tradition of Grindr hookups, had not seen the wake of bugcatchers from decades before and their hunger for pleasure even at the cost of life.

Jesse didn’t feel like explaining or fighting.

“Alright,” he answered, “Don’t fuck me then. Hell, tell me you never wanna see me again if you have to. But I want see you’re alright. We can meet where you feel safe.”

The hacker fell quiet. Another pull of smoke, holding it full in her lungs. Her gaze darted to the marble floor, soft ash snow falling from her fingers. 

“You persistent in seeing me? That’s new.” Sombra spoke in a cool tone, but something soft lurked at the feathered edges of her voice. She turned, as if she was preparing to go. 

That stung. After all the hounding she had done to get Jesse to call his sister, guilt over not having repaid the favor folded into guilt from not being able to tend to her in that precise moment.

It didn’t bother him because she was wrong. Quite the contrary. But didn’t she know better than to get soft in the middle of the battlefield? Didn’t she know anyone could be listening, waiting to pit them against each other? Again, Jesse heard Sombra ask for softness, for reassurance, for him to be more than the job, to be the man who woke up in cold sweats and who shook sometimes for no reason. 

Anyone else could have fucked right off. 

Sombra, however, had called him honey. She had made his cock a pleasure instead of a weapon, had seen his panties without flinching. It was her name he groaned back at the titty bar, a plea for some sanity in the desolation of his ramblings. She was worth a little risk, worth the extra shaking later.

He turned in earnest, breaking his diamond-hard gaze to touch her shoulder, saying, “Yeah, it’s new. But I’m doing it cause you’re the only person in years who’s let me call her darlin’ an’ mean it.”

She exhaled from her mouth in a thin stream, eyes turning back up to his face. The hacker pushed against his touch gently, and Jesse could feel her shoulder relax a little.

Little being the operative word.

“Looks like your charge is finally cooling down.” 

He looked back. Osmond was still chatting with his friends. Someone had joined them, but it was a nobody, a +1 to some other hotshot. They were unarmed, at the very least.

“Yeah, here’s hoping he finally learns some sense.”

There the moment ended before Jesse could even acknowledge that it happened. It wasn’t until he raised his eyes to step back into the job that he realized how hard the wall was, how sharp the contrast between work and his time with Sombra. Even with her claws out in self-defense, she was nice to him, human. 

“How many beds does that room of yours got?” she asked.

“Two fulls,” he answered quickly, “Last room they had.”

Going back to his work, Jesse’s focus was now split. On the one hand, almost every nerve screamed at him to -keepyoureyesonOsmond- and -scantheroomagainyoumighthave missedsomething-, but he had a new fear, a creeping tendril in his chest that turning away from Sombra meant not seeing her again. This only served to compound his fear of being shot, and he grit his jaw as a fresh, smaller wave of adrenaline swept him.

“Here’s hoping I finally learn some sense,” he sighed, chest tight.

She must have smelled it on him, because she decided to give him relief. One of her catlike whims. “Take care, vaquero,” the hacker murmured. She grazed against the cowboy’s back with her shoulder as she moved away from him quietly, without turning to look at him.

_-Guess the ball’s in her court now.-_

The rest of the night went well enough. Junior made a few actual contacts, which set Jesse’s nerves on edge but worked out in the end. They left the place around midnight and headed to an upscale strip club, one that promised “100% Natural Girls!”. Jesse tried not to think about his metal hand, about the way Sombra’s implants caught his eye and just focused on keeping his target safe. More drinking, another line, and some dances before the boys decided to call it a night, leaving Jesse from 3 to 6 circling the penthouse apartment, checking security feeds and fighting to stay awake.

At 6, he called Osmond Senior, confirmed all was well, confirmed the shots he had protected the kid from. 

“No sir, they weren’t aiming for him, just the lady he was speaking to,” he explained, “though he didn’t ask me so I didn’t tell him.”

As he stood in front of the window, it seemed as if the whole world had opened before him. Junior had 16 foot ceilings and floor to ceiling windows. From outside they were bulletproof tinted mirrors, but inside the heir had nothing obstructing his vision. Jesse could give a shit about the apartment, but it let him see just an inkling of the resplendent sunrise hovering over the skyline of the desert. None of it fucking mattered if he was going back to an empty room.

“Alright,” Senior said plainly, pulling the cowboy from his reverie, “You’re off duty. I’ll see you Saturday to pay you.”

“Pleasure doin’ business with ya.”

The call ended. He went back to his hotel. The late august dawn was already too warm, but it only made him that much more grateful to be exhausted. He went to unlock his door and noticed that the clear tape at the lower right hand corner was undone.

“Shit,” he pulled his gun and took the safety off, praying it wasn’t cops. He opened the door, revolver aimed forward, ready to find his death or worse finally waiting when-

The hacker shot up from her nest of blankets, brandishing a knife. Unlocked, ready to slice the tendons of any motherfucker who decided to follow her to this shitty motel. 

He lowered his gun.

“Damn near gave me a heart attack, darlin’!” he greeted, “but am I ever glad to see you.” Indeed, his chest blossomed for an instant with all the magnificence of that penthouse sky.

Naked save a pair of lacy thong underwear, still unseen from being covered by the flimsy sheets, she sighed, chest heaving, “Jesus Christ, Jesse.” 

He shut the door behind him, holstered the weapon, and started undressing, throwing his jacket on the floor. The clothes reeked of smoke and sweat and shitty cologne.

“Yeah, I woulda knifed me too,” he chuckled. 

Sombra laughed out of relief and as a release of horror from her body. The hacker’s messy straw curls bobbed with her chuckling. There was an exhale and Jesse felt eyes look him over.

The cowboy placed his gun under the pillow of the empty bed, not wanting to assume how much contact his guest would want after the events of the evening. He tossed off the holster and his armor, undid his signature belt and dropped trow to reveal, for once, boxers. They were dark blue and very plain.

He found an ashtray on the table between the two beds and lit a smoke, sitting on the edge of the empty mattress, facing her. He took a good long drag and tried to remember what it felt like to be awake, tried to calm his shaking hand and stave off his own respite just a little while longer.

“You ok?”

His eyes were tired, unable to keep genuine concern from showing through. There was a silence before Sombra answered, and the room felt sad for a lack of her voice. Shitty textured beige wallpaper didn’t help.

“I’m spooked, but alive.” She paused, watching him light his cigarillo. Her own lungs ached and burned from her excessive smoking the night before. Her voice was a touch raspy and worn thin as she added, “Thank you. For saving my ass. I’m sorry for getting you involved. I didn't realize that bastard wanted me dead that badly.” 

Sombra patted the bed, a spot next to her.

“Are you okay, hon?”

Jesse believed her. She seemed like she had walked it off for the most part. Good. Now it was just a matter of sleep and getting home safe. She could handle herself from now own.

“Coming down hard,” he admitted.

Another long drag, “As for tonight, don’t worry. They’ll think I was hired muscle, and that will be enough to keep me out of it.”

The next silence was different, full instead of empty. Everything started to hit him. Sombra was safe. He was as safe as he ever was. There was no more adrenaline left to prop him up, and dehydration was setting in. He focused on keeping his breath even, letting his mind finally go blank, letting the world feel like it was all too much. He knew he needed water, but moving felt like a gargantuan task at the moment.

It was a frighteningly familiar feeling, as familiar as the knowledge he would die.

“Glad you’re here. Alive.” Jesse croaked. He rested his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor, trying not to count the fibers. Trying to let his eyes glaze over. His hands shook a little, but this wasn’t as bad as it could be.

“Hey, Jesse,” Sombra said softly, as if beckoning a frightened animal over to her. Moving to the edge of the bed, she leaned over to look over the cowboy. She was sure to see the shake in his hands, how could she not? To her it was a new occurrence, not something three decades in the making. 

“I’m going to get you some water.” The hacker hopped off the bed, grabbing a plastic bottle she kept under the nightstand. Holding it out to him, she rested a hand delicately on his back. Even if she didn’t know his shakes, Sombra knew survival, and some instinct drove her to just about read his mind.

“Drink it, I bet you’re parched.” 

Was he ever. Jesse put out his smoke in the ashtray and took the bottle. It took an extra moment to unscrew, and a bit trickled down his face as he downed about half of what was left. When the water left his lips and he leaned forward to put elbow to knee again, he was no steadier.

“Thanks. M’always,” he took a deep breath, trying to keep himself grounded, “always like this after a hard job. S’not a big deal.” A memory flashed across his eyes of his first fight, of the girl he protected and the way his bloodied knuckles shook after he managed to get her home. Another memory of his first job with Deadlock, the way the safehouse concrete had ached on his ass as he forgot how to breathe.

Sombra’s hand on his back finally started to register. How long had it been there? 

“I forget this don’t happen to other folks.”

“You’re okay. I can’t even knock it; I spent way too much time staring out the window yesterday trying to chase away the feeling of drowning by my own blood.”

_-That’s right. She’s a scrapper too. Easy. Breathe.-_

“You need a shower, hon. I can help you if you want. Even brought that soap of mine that you like so much, ” she read his mind again. No, she read his body, here in the cracks. The hacker stroked his back with longer motions, increasing pressure on each side of his spine.

“Yeah.” Jesse could only half mumble, "I can do it myself." He stood carefully, pausing to look at her before he went to the shower. His mind swam, body threatened to shake down to its core. He wanted to reach across the divide. Gray drifted up from the cigarillo in the ashtray.

"I know what it’s like to have a bullet you're still running from." The cowboy clenched his metal hand. "But you're here now. You outran it."

_-Are you sayin’ that to her or yourself?-_

With this, he disappeared into the bathroom.

Once the door closed behind him, Everything fell. Boxers fell to the floor. Water fell from the showerhead, cool rain on desert-blasted skin. Tears fell. Jesse fell.

He was on his knees in the stall, looking for anything to do with his hands that would stop the shaking. Realizations hit him one after the other; each brought a new shiver and shudder. His mind went back to being everywhere, to counting every last potential gun and fist in the room. Every count became a wave of nausea. Every pair of eyes a weight on his sternum, defying gravity to tighten his ribs. 

_-You’re not dying, you just feel like you’re gonna die. Easy. Breathe.-_

At the peak of his episode, the bodyguard remembered the holes burnt into the off-white plaster wall. He felt them zoom past and miss Sombra, almost fell into the timeline where he hadn’t caught it in time. Some meager attempt was made to wipe the snot from his nose, but it didn’t help, just smeared the warm ooze over his knuckles.

Fortunately, nothing lasts forever, even bad panic attacks, and eventually Jesse’s heart rate fell. He breathed clearly and stood up. Sombra’s soap was there but he couldn’t find it. The motel bar ran over a furry chest. The water was turned off and a towel tossed over brown hair. Boxers found their way back over his waist. Walking out, Jesse pretended nothing had happened. It would be easier that way.

While her cowboy showered, Sombra had pulled out a holo-pad. She laid on her stomach, swiping at pages of God only knew what on her holo. The blanket nest sat unused.

"Glad I listened to ya," he offered before sitting back down, "Feel a little more awake now."

The cowboy dropped the towel and looked to his guest again, "You sure you’re ok?"

“If I were to tell you I was okay, I’d be lying,” she responded frankly, “I said I was alive. Not okay.”

"You're right." He got up and carefully sat on the edge of her bed, about to reach a tired hand to hold hers when he thought better of it.

Jesse rubbed the back of his neck, "Can I... I mean, do you… Can I help?"

“You can help,” Sombra responded to him carefully, “I want your help.”

He was sure he was staring as she continued, “I need reminded that my life isn’t just dodging pulse bullets and ignoring the stares of men who want to take me as a trophy. Take my hand, hold me.” 

She sighed, preemptively disappointed. Jesse didn’t want to understand why. He wanted to watch her unwrap her armor again, to ask her to show him step by step how. He wanted to be worthy of having watched it happen.

“You can say no too,” she added, “I would understand, your night was no easier than mine.”

“No, I can,” he took her hand in his, coming out of his mild awe, “How do you want me to hold you?”

“Hold me in a way that is comfortable for you to fall asleep.” Sombra answered him plainly, moving over to give him space in the narrow bed. Her hand in his, she guided him towards her, opening the comforter up to welcome him into her nest. There was a flash of black cotton panties.

“I want you to sleep with me. Literally. I’d be happy for that.”

It was one of those rare moments where Jesse was more jealous of Sombra's panties than turned on. The twinge of it ached harder than usual, like stretching an overworked muscle. He climbed in, feeling a hulk all of a sudden in the full bed next to her: laying on his back, trying to forget that his gun was under another pillow and his serape hung up in the closet. He was tired enough to sleep without them just once.

"C'mere. I got ya." The cowboy motioned for her to use his chest for a pillow, "Unless you can't sleep this way."

Sombra rested her head on his chest, nestling her body against his side. She draped a languid arm over his chest, a de-clawed hand settling on his heart. The mass of blonde curls spilled over his shoulder, her peach fuzz smooth against his skin. The hacker began to breathe slowly.

“See,”she half murmured, “we both fit.”

Jesse put one arm around Somba, pulling her in, and let the other one fiddle with her hair. His shoulders relaxed a bit; the bed as cozy, and he yawned. He was done with his job. Sombra just wanted held, and that’s what he needed anyway. It all worked out.

Something in his brain flipped over. Something that had been waiting since they said goodbye in Austin.

“Never doubted ya,” he murmured sleepily, “Boy howdy were you ever ready to stab me though, ya hellion.” There was a happy chuckle.

It seemed to surprise her. Sombra perked up and gave him the slightest of chest kisses.

“Imagine me, buck naked, running after a man with a knife. I’d run from me then.” The hacker chuckled back, head suddenly feeling heavier. She lazily kissed him again, letting herself react to him without thinking too hard.

A bird sang outside the window, reminding Jesse of how long he had been awake. He let her ramble as his eyes closed.

“This hellion is packing though… well, packing the knife. And these panties.”

“They don’t sell panties in Ocotillo,” he grumbled, “had to wear this shit. Raised by wolves, I tell ya, the whole town.”

“That’s a damn shame,” she yawned, allowing herself to start falling asleep. They would have time whenever he got up, and despite her having slept nearly six hours already, her body begged for more.

“You make a cute blonde.” His eyes closed as his body began to go slack, still playing with her curls.

“Thanks, sugar,” Sombra grumbled, “I’ll keep that… in… down there… go down there into the pantry, the chocolate chips…. In the plastic…”

Outside, people started to walk the streets. Los Angeles promised them another day of open streets and an even more open desert beyond. Inside, Jesse and Sombra lightly snored their place in the oasis city’s neverending watch. A cigarillo burned to ash and no one saw it happen. Even the hardest of underworld denizens needed to dream, after all, and to find for a small moment the quench of softness. Hard roads and harder gazes would find them soon enough.


End file.
